One Lost Puzzle Piece
by Distorted Pheonix
Summary: I did not see it as the puzzle so far away missing the piece, but the lonesome piece missing the puzzle.


A man walked down the alley. He was dressed oddly, a tattered robe trailing behind him, attached with a tarnished clasp at the small of his throat. At first glance, he was old. Streaks of silver could be seen in his obsidian hair and startlingly green eyes held a look of worldy defeat usually only seen in the gaze of grandfathers. Another glance gives the watcher pause for thought, as his features and physical fitness reveal a man no older than twenty five. But how did such a young man get such an old look in his eye?

He stoops, pausing in his uncertain stride to grasp something on the ground. A puzzle piece, long missing from someone's jigsaw puzzle. Why did this interest him so?

  
  


* * *

  
  


I looked at the puzzle piece. All alone, its comrades and companions long since gone, vanished. I did not see it as the puzzle so far away missing the piece, but the lonesome piece missing the puzzle, longing to do the impossible, to be part of a whole.

Like me.

Like the piece, I was alone in the world, missing my friends and love, my surrogate family and multiple parent figures. Even the parents I had never known made a hollow space in my heart. They were all gone to me, gone to a world that I could not yet join. 

It hurt worse that they had left in order to keep me here. They took my place, multiple times. They didn't know that by doing that, they hurt me far worse than he could have.

The puzzle piece was warm against my cold hands. Why it was warm, I wasn't sure. Didn't it know that it would never again see its friends and family, never again fit snugly in among those similar to it? 

Maybe it was because I knew too much that I was cold. I knew all the details of every death. Of Sirius and Remus being killed by the Unforgivable in order to give me the time I needed to escape from my house. Of Ron tortured to give up the Secret, my Secret given to him. Of Dumbledore's death in a duel with Voldemort, to show me I didn't need him anymore. Hermione dying in childbirth, trying in vain to give life to my son. A son who was still born. McGonagall now resided in St. Mungo's, tortured as the Longbottoms were tortured years before in effort to know my location. Snape went before Ron, when his loyalty was discovered by Voldemort. Even Draco had saved me, letting me go out of pity after capturing me for the Dark Lord. It later cost him his life. The entire Weasley family dead, within 6 short months. Even Mother and Father, who died so long ago to save me, even that long healed over scar now burns with pain.

I'm the last one left, like this lone puzzle piece. Something longing desperately to fit in, but finding it impossible, as the only ones who fit were lost forever. Lost because of me, believing me to be some sort of savior, the one who would deliver the wizarding world from the evil I inadvertently both originally destroyed and revived.

If only they could see me now, lost and desperate, fleeing from the Dark Lord, hiding in the alleys of Muggles. No one is here to be my Secret Keeper, no one left who cares about me for me rather than the Boy who Lived. 

And why is it that I am supposed to be the one who kills Voldemort? Why is it that I have a destiny and no one else does? Why is my path preset while everyone else gets the chance to choose?

But I suppose I must at least face him sooner or later. Because of everyone's belief that I will be the one to bring about Voldemort's downfall, no one else will try, no one else will attempt to kill him, thinking that I want to be the one to do, believing that I am the only one strong enough to do so.

How wrong they are.

I wanted to give this horrible burden to someone else so bad, it hurt. It hurt when everyone I ever cared about died because of me, just adding to the burden. It hurt to know that they were all together in heaven, while I was still searching for solace in a wretched world. They thought they were doing me a great service, dying instead of me. 

I suppose it will be a relief when I finally face him. If I die, I can leave this place, go up and find my friends and family, be part of a whole again. I can fit snugly among them again, just like this puzzle piece used to fit among his friends.

If I live, I have no doubt that I won't last long after it. My heart is searching desperately for those that complement it and fit perfectly among its various dips and rises. The hearts of those close to me, who fit and meld with me. 

But I have to keep going for now. I can't stop living, not yet. As much as I miss them, I can't let their sacrifices be in vain, can't betray their undying trust that I will face Voldemort. 

Only then can I rest my weary heart.

  
  


* * *

  
  


After a long moment staring at the single, lone puzzle piece, the mysterious man placed it in a breast pocket, close to his heart. Visibly steeling himself, he strode forward more confidently than before. 

On he walks, footsteps echoing into eternity.


End file.
